


Familiar Paths, Foreign Faces

by AParticularlyLargeBear



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Gender Dysphoria, Gender or Sex Swap, Multi, Romance, Trans Female Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a sideways shunt is perhaps a better description of events than a return to the beginning.</p><p>The Shepherds win, but their tactician finds herself in a situation both foreign and all too familiar. Home is the goal, and yet just leaving goes against the grain. Her only option is to retrace her steps in a world that's just a step to the side of the one she knows... but what changes will she encounter along the path?</p><p>Spoilers from literally the word go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It was in the summary, but I cannot emphasise enough how badly this spoils the Awakening story. If that's going to be a problem, stop here.

No, it ended here.

One life weighed against the future well-being of thousands, tens of thousands.

As tactical decisions went, it wasn’t even close to being a dilemma. It might even have been the easiest one in the Shepherds’ history.

A smile broke as a blade plunged into the heart of a dragon.

 

* * *

 

Yvette opened her eyes.

Huh. She wasn’t dead.

Well. Damn. That just made it an even better deal than she’d original thought, didn’t it?

She blinked once, twice, attempting to clear the muggy haze that had settled into her head. It took a moment, her thoughts as sticky as molasses, to put together even a couple of pieces of the puzzle. She eventually came to the conclusion that she was lying on her back and staring up at a clear blue sky. Right, excellent. That there was one of the finest strategic minds of an age. Even so, Yvette felt… fine, actually. Much more fine than she’d felt she had any right to expect. Nothing was sore or hurting, and there was no trace of the throbbing headache that had begun to pound any time Yvette was near Grima or its aspect.

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that she actually _was_ dead and she was now just kicking her heels in the afterlife, but Yvette hated jumping to unfounded conclusions. If Naga popped up in front of her, then maybe that was an idea that she could lend a little more credence. Otherwise it was little more than guesswork.

Yvette hadn’t placed much stock in the Divine Dragon’s statement that if her bonds with others were strong enough, then she would survive Grima’s demise. It seemed as a flight of fancy, a slender tether of hope to stop them from giving up. The more cynical side of Yvette had, from the beginning, wondered if Naga was simply lying, concealing the truth of the matter so that Yvette would do what needed to be done. Perhaps that was unfair of her, but that was the kind of thinker Yvette was. In Naga’s position, she may have considered the same deceit. Sacrifices were sometimes necessary for victory, and although Yvette had endeavoured to never place winning above her comrades’ lives, the stakes could not have been higher.

Perhaps thinking about it was a moot point. All current evidence pointed to her being very much alive and well. A far greater concern was that if Yvette wasn’t dead, then so too could the Dread Dragon have escaped its fate. She’d felt Grima expire through their unique connection, and yet she couldn’t draw a conclusion based just off a feeling. It made her more than uneasy. She needed to find her allies and pool their information. That was the first priority; locating Chrom and the others. One ‘other’ in particular, even if it was incredibly selfish to be thinking of that before their victory had been confirmed.

Regardless, selfish or not, Yvette wasn’t going to make much headway finding anyone if she decided to lie about on the ground all day.

It was as she placed her hands on the ground either side of her that she began to get the feeling that something wasn’t right. Her body felt wrong, strangely heavy and subtly out of sync, as if the movements she was ordering it to make weren’t quite getting through to it. Yvette’s first thought was that she was injured; she distinctly recalled being raked by a blast of infernal energy that had felt like being ravaged by an enormous claw. Yet at the same time, she didn’t feel wounded, and if she was badly enough hurt to not be able to move properly, it stood to reason that she would have been able to feel the pain. Which in itself was quite concerning, too. Yvette should have had _some_ injuries, at least. Unless she’d been healed and then dumped in the middle of- somewhere … outside… Yeah she had no idea where she was.

Right. She was trying to sit up, wasn’t she?

Yvette finished the motion she’d started and pushed herself up off the ground with her hands. A sharp twang jolted through her back, and she grunted in discomfort.

Then a cold chill seeped down her shoulders.

That wasn’t how she sounded. It wasn’t even close.

She recalled Validar’s voice echoing around her head, twisting her thoughts, forcing her to obey him, and leapt to her feet in a blind panic. No! He was dead! This couldn’t be happening to her again! Her breathing came rapidly, and the more she heard it, the worse the grip of fear became. The panting wasn’t her – it was the noise of some man, no less afraid, but still not _her_.

Yvette’s eyes finally dropped, and out ahead of her, she held a trembling hand. Too large, fingers too long and knuckles too callused. No tattoo either… and no finger band. Not her hand.

So whose was it?

She turned her attention further downward, to the rest of her body. Athletic, firmly muscled, clad in a leather breastplate and breeches. Arms and shoulders bare, also muscled, faint scars spiderwebbing their way across the biceps. Not a woman’s shape, and even had it been, it wouldn’t have been _her_ shape, nor her clothes. The only familiar aspect of her appearance was the sword she had belted at her waist. The hilt was simple and the grip hatched to prevent slipping. More important than the craftsmanship Yvette knew the blade had was its owner. It belonged to Say’ri, borrowed in the heat of battle to slay a god.

Having the weapon was a slender comfort to the strange reality that she found herself confronting. Yvette remembered the aspect of Grima shattering her sword into a thousand pieces, the fear that had seized her as Say’ri knocked her aside, intercepting the blow that would have killed her. The determination that had flowed through her being when Say’ri, one hand clutched to her own injuries, thrust the blade at her and said ‘ _Go. I stand at your side!’_

The sword, however, was scant reassurance compared to that which would have been provided by the woman.

Yvette tried to steady her breathing through the crushing weight that had settled upon her chest. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t _her._ What the hells was going on? Henry had mentioned this kind of sorcery to her once before, swapping one’s form with another’s, but Yvette had never had any aptitude for dark magic, and she didn’t recognise this man’s shape at all. Besides, if that was the case, then why would she still have Say’ri’s sword? Again she inspected herself, trying to find any clues as to her identity. None were forthcoming. She had no coinpurse and no pack, not even a small bag. Other than the sword and the clothes on her back, Yvette had quite literally nothing on her person.

Well, if her methods offered up no further information, then all that was left was to find out whatever she could. For the first time, Yvette studied her surroundings. She wasn’t far away from a small path that meandered here and there through what looked to be the countryside. She’d been lying in the grass that bordered the path, in the shade of a young tree. Here and there, more plant life was scattered about. Scenic. Yvette was hesitant to draw a conclusion so early, but her surroundings certainly resembled Ylisse. Still, Ylisse wasn’t the only country in the world to have trees, so more exploration was necessary.

Yvette made her way over to the path and began following it. Each step she took was jerky and uncertain, and more than once, she felt as if she might just stumble and fall over her own feet. Her stride was too long and her gait unfamiliar. Continually, she attempted to step over debris scattered across the path, only to overshoot it and wind up tripping on something else entirely. Gods! Forget dark magic and elaborate strategic ploys, apparently all that was needed to defeat her was to lengthen her legs a few inches. She slowly acclimatised as the walk went on, but everything about her body was just _wrong_. This didn’t belong to her, and almost as uneasy as the thought of what had happened to her real shape was whose form exactly this was.

Even if this wasn’t a Grimleal scheme, Yvette didn’t belong in this man’s body.

Perhaps an hour went by, an hour of scanning the horizon intently, watching out for any enemies or any clues. Just because she hadn’t immediately been assaulted upon waking up didn’t mean that potential hostiles weren’t out there. For all Yvette knew, her body was that of a wanted criminal. Given the abundance of scars, this clearly wasn’t somebody who’d had an easy life.

As the walk continued, the path began to grow into something more resembling an actual road, and soon enough, Yvette caught a glimpse of the walls of a town not too far in the distance. Although difficult to be certain from here, the architecture looked Ylissean. That impression only grew stronger as she approached and her anticipation built. If indeed she was in Ylisse, then the task of figuring out what was going on became far easier. The halidom wasn’t all that large, and if she could get directions, Yvette was already halfway to making it back home to Ylisstol. That feeling, however, was gently nudged aside by a little twinge of nostalgia when she grew close enough to get a good look at the town entrance. She was certain that she’d seen those gates before, although it had been a couple of years ago. Could this be the place where she had first fought alongside Chrom? If not, then it was that town’s twin.

Feeling relief and trepidation in equal measure, Yvette entered the town. Nobody hailed her, and no guards barred her passage. Well, this was certainly Ylisse, to extend such an open invitation to any traveller that strolled up to their door. Indeed, while there were a number of townspeople going about their daily business, nobody made more note of Yvette than giving her a slight double take. Well, at least this face she was wearing didn’t appear to be on any bounty posters. The situation was quite complicated enough without creating additional factors to account for. Actually, ‘complicated’ was probably too light a word, but Yvette was having to go to some length just to keep her head screwed on already, so ‘complicated’ was what she was sticking with for now.

Now that she was inside the walls, Yvette knew for sure; this was the same place she’d come to after meeting Chrom. The layout of the market stalls in the large town square was absolutely identical, and forgetting that was all but impossible. After losing her memory and waking up in that field, joining Chrom to protect the town was one of her first experiences. In some ways, it was almost her first memory, the opening page of the new life that she’d built for herself. Away from the Grimleal, away from her father. Away from the Fell Dragon. Yvette had often had cause to curse her amnesia, but knowing now what memories her past held, she was quite content to have thrown away the key. Nothing good could come from remembering those experiences.

Knowing where she was, however, was a definite plus. She probably wouldn’t even need directions to return to Ylisstol. Yvette had an even better location in mind. If she recalled correctly, it was more or less a straight shot north from here to the Shepherds’ barracks. While the garrison wasn’t always manned, it was a better option than just strolling up to the royal palace and asking to see Chrom. Still, if nobody was there, then a further trip to the east would see her to Ylisstol, and she’d be able to figure out a plan. Even if she was wearing the wrong face, she knew enough privileged information that she would be able to secure an audience, she was sure.

However, before Yvette travelled anywhere, she had a more immediate problem. She had no supplies whatsoever, and no means of securing more. Her only tool was Say’ri’s sword, and Yvette was loath to even draw it, let alone be so disrespectful as to use it to _hunt_. It didn’t belong to her, and until they were reunited, Yvette had the responsibility of seeing it returned undamaged. There was perhaps the possibility of foraging, but there was no guarantee that any of the plant life would be in season, and even then, a few berries would hardly provide substantial nourishment on a march. That limited her options, and whilst Yvette hated to rely on charity, perhaps if she asked around she could earn a couple of meals. Surely there would be some odd jobs that needed doing around the place, and most Ylisseans tended to be willing enough to accept help when it was offered.

Yvette approached the nearest person, a young man selling an assortment of vegetables. As she drew up to him, he turned a warm smile her way, which immediately froze, eyes widening.

“C-can I help you, sir?” he stammered.

Yvette withheld a frown. The man was staring at her face. Scratch her previous statement. Perhaps she _was_ some kind of a criminal, and had just gone undetected previously. She pushed on nonetheless. “I’m looking for work.”

She couldn’t help but wince. Her voice was surprisingly soft to her ear, but still unmistakeably that of a man. She might have considered the gentle timbre pleasant, if it wasn’t coming out of her own mouth.

The shopkeeper gaped at her. “Uh… we don’t got no call for mercenaries here, sir. It’s real peaceful.”

Yvette couldn’t blame him for taking her for a fighter. She was armed and armoured, after all. She spread her hands wide. “I’m not a sellsword. There’s plenty I can do that doesn’t involve my blade. If nothing else I’m a strong back,” she tried and failed to keep her voice level. The more she spoke, however, the more her words trembled, sticking in her throat. This was wrong, so very, very wrong.

The man relaxed fractionally. “Well I don’t need no help with the stall, but maybe you could ask ‘round? Sorry if I seemed unneighbourly like. We don’t get too many visitors, ‘specially not folks who look so fiercelike as your good self.”

Yvette opened her mouth to offer a reassurance, and then a scream pierced the air. The townsman gave a yelp, ducking behind his stall, and Yvette immediately snapped around, trying to trace the source of the noise.

An eerie finger of cold ran its way down her spine. Not far from where she stood, a group of thugs was swaggering into the plaza, knocking over stalls, shoving bystanders aside, and generally making a mess of the place. They were armed with an assortment of blades; axes and swords, and one even looked to be wielding a tome. They were also all too familiar. Or rather, this situation was all too familiar. The town had been attacked by brigands last time Yvette was here. Same town, same place, same events. To attribute such similarities to mere coincidence seemed an oversimplification, and this went some way beyond simple déjà vu.

As Yvette watched, one of the bandits lashed out with their weapon, and there was a strangled cry as a townsman fell to the floor, clutching his chest. Yvette’s eyes narrowed. Familiar or not, she couldn’t allow this to stand. Her hand went to the hilt of her blade, and then she grimaced, releasing it a moment later. Her reluctance to use the sword was no less pronounced than before. Right now, it was all that she had of Say’ri. If she was to be more logical, it was also the only proof she held of her identity, although she couldn’t lie and claim that the second factor was at the forefront of her mind.

Refusing to draw her sword, Yvette’s eyes instead alighted upon a nearby merchant’s stand, the vendor’s wares sheltered from the elements by a tarpaulin strung above the stall. Specifically, she noticed the sturdy tree branch that was holding the tarp up in lieu of a pole.

Well, it wasn’t a real weapon, but it would do.

Snatching the branch without even bothering to look at the collapse it caused, Yvette bounded forward, weighing up her new acquisition in her hand as she went. Nice and hefty; she wouldn’t be parrying any blows with it, but a well-placed strike would definitely cause some damage. Hey, if Frederick could drill Chrom on the use of lances by making him heft logs around…

It didn’t take long for her to reach the area that the thugs were making a mess of. Those residents who hadn’t been ‘encouraged’ to get out of the way had been sensible enough to flee, leaving Yvette’s path almost completely unobstructed. Again, she measured up the branch, giving a couple of testing swings, getting a feel for both the ‘weapon’ and her body’s own capabilities for wielding it. She felt strong and agile, and the familiar motions of swordplay came easily to her, even if this wasn’t precisely a blade she was using.

Jeering and whooping, the brigands strolled down the thoroughfare, only to stop dead in their tracks. Yvette blocked the way calmly, holding the branch loosely in her left hand. It had used to be her weaker hand, but she’d become so accustomed to wielding magic in one palm and a blade in the other that she’d drilled strength into it. She wished that she had a tome now, or even a stave. Both would have been extremely useful.

“I’d step aside if I were you, tough guy,” growled a grizzled figure at the front of the group. “Gettin’ in our way is a good way of gettin’ hurt.”

“So is attacking innocents,” Yvette replied, playing for time, assessing the thugs’ armaments and formation, which of them looked more threatening, who was most likely to break. This was not going to be easy, and she needed to arm herself with as much information as she possibly could before the fighting broke out. They numbered just shy of a dozen and she was a single woman without a proper weapon. Although these men were hardly Grimleal fanatics or monstrous Risen, it was a foolish fighter who was cavalier about odds of eleven to one.

A derisive snort. “Awright then, hero. Last warnin’,” greedy eyes dropped to Yvette’s waist, then gleamed with avarice. “Actually, turn over that sword and we’ll spare yer sorry hide.”

Yvette smiled. Cold and mirthless. “I’m right here. Perhaps you should talk less and fight more.”

“Haw!” the leader brayed a laugh and then jabbed a thumb Yvette’s way. “Britts. Fogg. Go ahead and slaughter ‘im.”

The two closest thugs began to swagger towards her. The remainder were still busy helping themselves to whatever wares took their fancy from the abandoned stalls. They were underestimating her. Good. That was a welcome – if temporary – advantage to hold.

Yvette stayed in place, slowly flexing her wrists, bouncing gently on her heels. Nice and limber, in spite of her actual body being unfamiliar to her.

They weren’t even going to know what hit them.

The first brigand directed a lazy swing of his axe at Yvette’s head. No form, no technique. Completely and utterly sloppy. Frederick would have had his head on a platter for that. Yvette hardly had to think about it as she swayed aside and then brought her weapon whipping across her body in a powerful backswing that connected flush with the thug’s jaw. There was an almighty _crack_ , and the man fell, poleaxed. His fellow gave a shout of alarm and hurried in to take up his place, but Yvette was still in motion, stepping into the onrushing charge and planting her elbow into the bandit’s midriff. With an ‘oof’, he doubled over, and Yvette smoothly brought up her knee, smashing it straight into the man’s vulnerable face. He too went down, wailing and clutching a hand to his burst nose.

Yvette settled down again, cast a glance to her downed foes. The first was out cold, the second cursing and rolling around on the floor. She sent him to join his fellow in unconsciousness with a swift kick to the head.

Her smile returned as the brigands’ leader gaped at her. A moment later, the man’s mouth shut, and he glared death at her.

“That’s it!” he roared. “Put ‘im in the ground! Go! Go!”

Yvette took a deep breath. Nine on one. She was in trouble.

The gang gave a cry, resounding through the plaza, and then charged her en masse. Yvette decided that standing her ground wasn’t in her best interests this time and darted to the side, putting a fruit stall between her and the brigands. Immediately, their momentum stalled, just enough to take the edge off the group’s attack. Yvette ducked one swing, sidestepped another, and then vaulted a second stand, staying as elusive as she could. She picked what opportunities presented themselves – a kick to a kneecap, an uppercut slash to punish an overzealous swipe, but there were just too many of them for her to make those chances count.

Sweat streamed down her forehead and into her eyes, forcing her to blink it away. She stepped back as an axe was aimed at her head, retaliating with a torqueing kick that connected square in the thug’s midriff. Winded, he fell, but Yvette doubted he was out of commission entirely, and she couldn’t finish him off before another foe came flying in from the flank and forced her back even further. Gods! If only she had a tome, or better yet, an ally. If Say’ri was here, then these bandits wouldn’t have stood a chance-

The telltale tang of magic in the air reached her nostrils, and Yvette barely had time to react before a sizzling fireball caught her in the shoulder, sending her spilling to the ground. Ugh! She rolled aside from an attempted killing blow and scrambled to her feet, but her arm was crying out in agony, and she could smell something burning-

Oh. It was the tree branch. Her weapon was on fire. Lovely.

Yvette brought the blazing piece of wood up in front of her, face locked into a pained grimace. Well, at least it looked intimidating. No time to consider the comparative merits of taking a burning stick into battle, however, because another of the brigands had decided to chance his arm. He aimed a long thrust her way, and Yvette had to leap aside to avoid being impaled. She lashed the branch back in retaliation, and was rewarded with a scream of pain as the flames hit the man straight in the face. No time to track where he went – yet another attack, Yvette took a step back and _slipped_ , heel catching on the pavement edge and sending her reeling backwards, off balance and helpless-

“Hold on!” a voice called, and the thug looming over her was replaced by a blast of electricity, knocking him back and out of sight.

Yvette recovered her balance just in time to see a figure charge past her. A blade flashed, a sword that she would know anywhere, and she caught a glimpse of dark blue hair as her rescuer disappeared into the melee. Her heart sang. Chrom! The sound of pounding hooves followed, and then a fully-armoured knight hurtled through on Chrom’s tail, sending the brigands scattering like pins.

“That looked hairy!” the same voice from before. “You okay?”

Yvette turned, and her stomach did a little backflip. She didn’t recognise the diminutive man that had drawn up alongside her. She’d never seen him before in her life. She did, however, recognise the Plegian-styled coat that he was wearing, the tome in one hand, the sword in the other, the confidence in his posture. She was looking at a tactician.

She managed a nod. The tactician beamed. “Great! Let’s mop these guys up!” he paused in the middle of turning away. “Also your sword’s on fire.”

Yvette grimaced and threw the mostly-burned branch down. The tactician offered his sword to her without question, and she took it, nodding again.

By the time the two of them rejoined the battle, Chrom and the mounted knight whom Yvette could only assume was Frederick had already dealt with most of the brigands. It was the work of moments to finish the few that were left, especially now that Yvette had an actual weapon. Soon enough, they were either down for the count or in the process of fleeing. The reinforcements had turned the tide, and a grin was breaking across Yvette’s face as she approached her friend, who was mopping his brow with an arm.

“That’s the last of them. Good work everyone.”

Yvette stopped dead in her tracks, and her heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t Chrom’s voice. Namely because Chrom _wasn’t a woman_. Lucina? That was the only other person Yvette knew who had that distinctive hair colour and wielded Falchion.

The figure turned. Yvette stared.

“Hey there,” she said. “Good to meet you. My name is Chromia.”


	2. Chapter 2

The woman standing in front of Yvette was Chrom without being Chrom. It went beyond superficial aspects of appearance and into the core of what made Chrom, well, himself. If it was just the blade and the hair (which Yvette noted now was actually tied in a long braid), the brand on the shoulder then perhaps Yvette would merely have been discomfited. A doppelganger dressed in Chrom’s clothes was cause for alarm, but not a game changer. Much could be done with sorcery, although Yvette was at a loss to explain precisely why anyone would want to disguise themselves as a female Chrom.

However, it wasn’t just Chrom’s appearance that the woman emulated. The easy smile, the way her hand rested on Falchion’s hilt, the way she stood and carried herself, even the authority that had been in her voice when she declared the skirmish to be over. All of those quirks combined to be unique to Chrom, unique to the man Yvette had counted as a friend for almost four years.

Except apparently not, now that Yvette had met this… Chromia.

The mounted knight drew up on their horse and then dismounted. A moment later, they removed their helm, and Yvette was met by the sight of a stern-looking woman, brown hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun. Again, an abruptly unnerving sensation gripped Yvette. Even just watching the woman move, there was only one person who she was reminded of. That person also happened to be a man.

“Milady,” she said stiffly, addressing Chromia. “While I applaud your eagerness, I would appreciate it if you refrained from hurling yourself headlong into danger quite so frequently.”

Chromia didn’t move her eyes from Yvette as she answered, clearly expecting her to say something. “I apologise, Francine. My concern was the safety of the townspeople.”

Francine made a quiet ‘hmph’, but said nothing further. Chromia’s attention was still on Yvette, and at last, she could stall no longer.

“My thanks for the assistance. I couldn’t have held them off much longer by myself.”

“Don’t worry about it,” sounded a new voice, buoyant and energetic. “We’re Shepherds! Helping people is what we do!”

Yvette turned to see a young man strolling towards her, idly tossing a staff from hand to hand. His hair was blonde, tied back in an elaborate ponytail, and he wore finely tailored clothes, padding in his doublet the only obvious concession to actual protection. For all that, the smile on his face seemed a genuine one, filled with youthful enthusiasm.

“Oh hold on, you’re hurt!” his eyes widened almost comically, and he flicked out his staff, bathing Yvette in soft green healing light. “There. Better?”

Yvette nodded, her wounds already feeling significantly less sore. “It seems I am in your debt.”

“Well, perhaps you could fulfil that debt by introducing yourself,” said Chromia, an amused look playing across her face.

Hesitation. They clearly had no idea who she was. Yvette wasn’t sure she had any idea who _they_ were. She couldn’t see Chrom suddenly going by a different name if he were suddenly turned into a woman – and the fact she was even considering that as a possibility just amplified how bizarre this all was. What was clear was that she was going to have to tread carefully whilst she figured out what was going on.

Yvette bowed deeply, stalling. “I am Yin’sa,” she’d spent enough time around Say’ri that she believed she could do a decent job of feigning Chon’sin heritage, and she could have sworn that her voice carried a slight inflection of that country anyway. Difficult to tell while wrestling with the male timbre. Regardless, she wasn’t comfortable enough with this situation to be honest. Chromia… _was_ Chrom, and yet simultaneously wasn’t. Could Yvette have found herself in some unknown Outrealm?

“Yin’sa,” Chromia said the name thoughtfully, and then nodded. “I thought your accent sounded unusual. Where are you from?”

“Over the sea; a land called Chon’sin,” Yvette lied, feeling a pang of guilt as she did so. Not just for claiming a heritage that she didn’t possess, but for deceiving somebody uncomfortably similar to a close friend.

“Ooh, I’ve read about Chon’sin!” the blonde boy piped up. “Are you a traveller? On some kind of journey!” he gave a little gasp of delight. “Are you visiting royalty?”

“Lazarus,” Francine sighed, sounding utterly world weary. “I believe politeness would dictate introducing oneself before launching into an interrogation.”

The boy blushed bright red. “Right. You’re right. Sorry,” he turned back to Yvette. “My name is Lazarus. The scary one is Francine.”

“And my name is Yves,” the tactician, silent until now, piped up from Yvette’s side.

Yves. As if all of this wasn’t strange enough, here was a man all too alike to herself, at least in appearance. He even shared Yvette’s dark brown hair.

In lieu of voicing any of those thoughts, Yvette bowed again.

“My brother may be excitable, but I do find myself curious,” said Chromia. “You’re a long way from home. What brings you to the halidom?”

Yvette hesitated again. She’d never actually _had_ a reason to be in Ylisse. Chrom hadn’t asked her the question all those years ago, because she’d woken up without any recollection of her arrival. “I am searching for somebody,” she answered slowly. The best lies contained a healthy measure of the truth. “Someone very dear to me.”

Lazarus’s face fell. “Oh, that’s awful!” he sighed, crestfallen. “I hope you find them!”

Yvette managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“Indeed. My sympathies,” said Francine, as if remarking upon the weather. She glanced to Chromia. “Should we be on our way, milady? We should hasten back to Ylisstol.”

“Soon, Francine,” Chromia assured her. She smiled at Yves, nodding approvingly. “That was quite a show back there, Yves. Your strategy really gave us the edge. The Shepherds could use somebody like you.”

“Milady!” Francine was aghast. “We know nothing about him!”

“He fought alongside us,” Chromia countered. “I trust him.”

“Yeah, me too!” announced Lazarus.

Yves smiled, flushing slightly. “It was the least I could do after you found me in that field.”

Well. That didn’t just sound familiar, it sounded identical. Stranger and stranger.

“I don’t wish to impose on your search, Yin’sa, but you were very bold to fight like you did. It’d be a pleasure to have you along the road to Ylisstol, if that’s the direction you were heading.”

Francine made an exasperated noise. “Yes, why do we not just pick up everyone we see along the way? He was fighting armed men with a stick, milady!”

Chromia smiled mischievously. “Making it all the more impressive he defended himself so well, right?”

Francine threw up her hands and walked back to her mount, muttering under her breath.

Yvette nodded fractionally. Even if this wasn’t her Chrom, it was probably in her best interests to stick by her. It had to be better than wandering around aimlessly and crossing her fingers. “Aye, I accept your offer. I’d had no luck here.”

“Great!” enthused Lazarus. “The more the merrier, right?”

Frankly, for Yvette things were running along the lines of ‘the more the mystifying’.

 

* * *

 

The five of them departed Southtown not long afterwards, Lazarus having no small share of complaints about Francine’s insistence they get underway immediately. It was disconcerting, hearing words and phrases that Yvette recalled being used back when she first awoke in Ylisse. The speech was the same, but the voices were not, and there were enough subtle differences in the flow of conversation to throw Yvette off. Certainly, Yvette remembered Lissa bombarding her with questions, trying to prise open the enigma of her past. Lazarus was doing the same, but Yves was responding with good humour rather than her own doubtful introspection. Francine lectured Chromia again about taking care of herself, but surely Chrom had not argued quite so vehemently against Frederick as this woman to her own guardian.

At some point, Yves fell in step alongside Yvette, and it wasn’t until she glanced off to the treeline that she actually noticed him there. She immediately started.

“Zounds, man!” Yvette was making special care to emphasise her use of the language. Some of Say’ri’s vocabulary had rubbed off on her, and it was time to make use of it. “How long have you been there?”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen?” Yves shrugged and then grinned. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Aye? And what were you attending to?”

“You, actually,” Yves chuckled, sticking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I’ve never seen anyone quite like you before.”

“That could be interpreted in multiple ways,” Yvette replied, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Even were he nothing so fanciful as an alternate version of herself, Yves was clearly an intelligent man. She was going to have to watch herself around him.

“Ha! True enough. It was meant positively, I assure you,” he regarded her for another few seconds. “Actually I admit to some curiosity. I notice you wear a sword, but then didn’t use it. Is it broken? Defective, somehow?”

Yvette glanced to her waist, and then shook her head minutely. “I did not use the blade because it doesn’t belong to me.”

“Ah,” Yves stroked his chin. “This person you’re searching for must mean a lot to you, then.”

Her heart panged with longing. “She does,” she answered, freely and honestly. “We’re…” Yvette struggled for the correct phrasing. This didn’t translate very well from the Chon’sin dialect, and Say’ri had had to muddle through an explanation in Yvette’s incomplete understanding of the language. “…betrothed,” is what she settled on. It was what the rest of the Shepherds had taken their relationship as anyway, and both of them had been content to allow that interpretation. It was fairly accurate. They were committed to one another, promised. That qualified, more or less, as an engagement.

“Oh!” Yves’ eyebrows rose, and then knitted together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was a sensitive topic.”

She shrugged. Although she wasn’t one to wear emotions on her sleeve, her top priority was to ensure that she had the trust of her new companions. She was going to need their help to get anywhere, and she doubted that they would be overly receptive to hearing her story whilst barely knowing her. What would she tell them? ‘I’m your strategist from the future, except it’s an alternate future, you’re going to fight Plegia, Valm, and an evil dragon, with the assistance of your own children. Also in my world you all had the opposite gender.’

The story sounded absurd even to Yvette’s ear, and she’d lived it. That meant it was imperative she stuck by the prince – or the princess, she supposed – until she knew more, and she could only do _that_ by winning him over. Her over. Gods! This was confusing. At the very least, if Chromia was anything like her male counterpart, she would be willing to put her faith in Yvette’s good intentions. In spite of objections from Francine the Wary.

“Yin’sa?”

Yvette glanced over her shoulder. Lazarus, who had been trailing in the rear for the entire march, had finally quickened his pace enough to catch up. He smiled as their eyes met, his entire face lighting up in a manner so eerily reminiscent of Lissa that Yvette almost did a double take. If there had been any doubts about who the young man was, they were erased.

He seemed to take Yvette’s look as prompting to continue. “You’re a really impressive fighter! Where did you learn how to move like that?”

“If you’re referring to me tripping and nearly dying, that just comes naturally.”

Lazarus giggled. “I meant before that! You were fending off ten men all by yourself!”

“Oh, uh…” Yvette reached across herself, cupping her elbow. “I hadn’t realised I had an audience.”

Lazarus laughed delightedly. “Sure did! We could see you fighting when we arrived in town.”

“Ah,” Yvette wasn’t completely thrilled about that. They’d already seen her fighting with a branch. If they’d watched her acrobatics, there was a good chance she’d be taken for a showoff. Hardly the reputation she wanted to cultivate.

“Soooo?” Lazarus wheedled, leaning forward. Yves cast a curious glance over too.

Yvette withheld a sigh. Looked like she wasn’t going to be able to wriggle out of this. “The footwork was a skill I gained through experience. I lacked raw strength, and so I focused on my technique. I wouldn’t normally move around quite so much, but the numbers weren’t precisely in my favour.”

“You were really brave!” said Lazarus.

“He was nearly dead,” grumbled Francine.

“Francine!” Lazarus cried reproachfully. “What a thing to say!”

“It’s fine. She’s right,” said Yvette. “But I couldn’t stand by and do nothing when innocents were in danger.”

“Well said, Yin’sa,” Chromia called from the front of the formation. “And you have my thanks for defending the townsfolk.”

“Nay, you needn’t thank me. You and your Shepherds did most of the work.”

The conversation lulled there, and Yvette found herself focusing more intently on her travelling companions. Her first impressions of familiarity were no weaker than before, and she was struck again and again by how uncannily _alike_ these strangers were to the people that she knew. Lazarus was clearly flagging, much like Lissa had before she grew properly accustomed to marching. Chromia hummed under her breath, just a shade less self-consciously than Chrom had. Francine kept ranging on ahead, and Yvette was certain that she was scouting the path ahead for obstructions. Those suspicions were confirmed when she returned to them with a tree limb slung over her shoulder, which she handed to Yvette, sardonically remarking that she’d found a new weapon of choice for her.

That was going to become a ‘thing’. Yvette just knew it.

In any case, what was clear enough was that chronologically, the events that were unfolding very much mirrored those that Yvette had experienced upon first awakening. Unfortunately, that left Yvette mired in a no-man’s land of uncertainty. She didn’t belong here, but how could she figure out how to depart when she wasn’t even sure how she’d arrived? ‘I killed an ancient dragon’ wasn’t precisely an experimental condition one could easily replicate. In fact, the only person Yvette could think of who might know was Tiki, the Voice of Naga, and the manakete was currently residing on a different continent. Possibly still slumbering, if she was even the same dragon that Yvette had known previously.

The frustrating thing was that Yvette just didn’t _know_ enough, and her means of uncovering more were limited, particularly if she wanted to avoid blowing her cover. It would be all too easy to accidentally let slip something she wasn’t supposed to know.

Eventually, Chromia called a halt. Lazarus let an enormous sigh of relief and all but hurled himself to the ground in the centre of the clearing Chromia had stopped them in.

“Urrrrrrgh,” he groaned. “I can’t believe we walked so far! We could have been having a celebration feast, but noooo…”

“Chin up, my prince,” said Francine. “We’ve already made the better part of the trip back to Ylisstol. If we make good pace tomorrow and forgo breaks, we may reach the capital by nightfall.”

“Gee, if we forced march all day, I just might see home before my legs drop off? Pass!”

Francine chuckled and began to move around the area, alternating between stacking wood in a pile and removing anything laying around. Quietly efficient, tirelessly diligent, and so utterly _Frederick_ that Yvette had to avert her gaze, swallowing down a lump in her throat. Were her friends coping all right? Had Grima’s defeat truly signalled an end to all the fighting?

She hoped desperately that it had. Otherwise, she’d left them all behind for nothing. It didn’t make for much of a trade if the victory hadn’t been decisive.

But now she was doubting herself, and Yvette had always hated dwelling. Focus forward, as she liked to say. Account for the past, but do not be tricked into facing backwards. Of course, the saying had become tinged with a hint of irony after Lucina and her fellows had joined the Shepherds, being that they had literally travelled back in time, but the basic principles were the same. They represented Yvette’s favoured strategic approach; not wasting time running around trying to pick up pieces, forging onward with those pieces that remained in hand. A gambler’s attitude, perhaps, but it had never steered her wrong before.

“Hey, Yin’sa,” Chromia was nearby, rolling each shoulder in turn. She continued as Yvette glanced over. “Care to hunt with Francine and I?”

“Fie… I would, but I don’t have the correct equipment.”

Chromia paused. “Ah… of course,” she grinned. “Well, I suppose that leaves our meal to my tender mercies then.”

Lazarus groaned again. “She’ll find something bizarre, just you wait. She does it on purpose.”

“Wait, what was that, Lazzie?” Chromia cupped a hand to her ear. “Spear a wolf? Sure! I know you love wolf meat.”

“Urrrrrrgh,” Lazarus rolled over on the ground, facing Yvette and Yves, more or less. “Have you met my sister? She’s a total blockhead.”

Yves just grinned. Yvette snorted and walked over to Francine, whose stack of wood had grown considerably in stature.

“Shall I start a fire?”

Francine looked at her like she’d asked for the Exalt’s hand in marriage. “Only if you are certain of how to do so safely.”

Yvette rolled her eyes. “I know how to build a campfire, Frederick.”

Francine looked at her for a long moment. “…Frederick?”

_Shit._

Yvette donned the finest poker face that she’d ever worn. “Fie. Fatigue gets the better of me. I knew a rather cautious fellow by the name of Frederick. You rather remind me of him, my lady knight.”

“I see,” Francine relaxed. Fractionally. “I’m uncertain how I should take being compared to a man.”

“Forgive me. Twas not my intent to offend,” Yvette gave what she hoped was a suitably tired-looking smile, and Francine gave a firm nod before following along after Chromia, who was waiting impatiently at the edge of the clearing.

Yvette’s heart was clamouring as she watched them go. Bloody fool. Francine wouldn’t let her within a league of joining the Shepherds if she continued with such erratic behaviour. Yvette knew a look of appraisal when she saw one, and the knight would have taken a careful mental note of the slip. If it was anything other than a one-off incident, then she was to expect some highly pointed questions.

Fortunately, a distraction was forthcoming as Lazarus began to quiz Yves about his apparent memory loss. It was a curious experience, to witness from the outside a conversation that she’d participated in, all those years back. Not all of the questions were the same, nor all of the answers, but enough of the structure was there that Yvette could begin to guess what Lazarus would ask before he actually asked it. However, while the framework was present, the way Yves responded within it wasn’t much like Yvette remembered. Amnesiac tactician Yves may have been, but as personality went, Yvette couldn’t see that the two of them had much in common. He was lighthearted, was constantly cracking jokes, and didn’t appear to be overly concerned by the details. Yvette, by contrast, was far more methodical, and much more likely to make a sarcastic remark than a jest.

She made no apologies for that. It was just the way she was. She would go as far as saying that if she were any different, she wouldn’t be nearly as effective in her role. Former role. Yvette wasn’t sure that she had much of anything right now.

There lay a quandary. The logical move was for Yvette to attempt to become a Shepherd. The difficulty was that she wasn’t quite certain where she stood. Chromia’s invitation had specifically concerned travelling arrangements; it hadn’t been an offer to become a part of the group. In this case, there was a decent chance that Yvette’s own lie would work against her. It would be hard to avoid giving the game away while explaining that staying with the Shepherds was the best way of searching. Although Yvette genuinely believed that, to explain her reasons why would be to delve into matters of outrealms and time travel. Sure, Lucina had managed to convince them she was from the future, but she’d had the benefit of her brand, a duplicate of a one-of-a-kind sword, and her physical similarities to Chrom and Maribelle. Yvette had no such points of persuasion in her favour.

In short, her options were limited. If Yvette wanted to gain Chromia’s trust, then she would have to do so not on her merits, but on the merits believably possessed by a swordsman from Chon’sin. Fortunately she’d always been handy with a blade, even if she wasn’t a patch on the likes of Lon’qu and Say’ri. It was unlikely to be difficult to pass it off as her speciality. Still, it did restrict most of her combat options. With her own version of the Shepherds, Yvette had danced between fencer and healer, accompanying the frontline with magical support, usually with one of their better fighters watching her back. Her niche had always been her mobility, and she supposed that Chromia and the others had already got a taste of her acrobatics. She was still reluctant to emphasise that talent, however. It was… flamboyant in a fashion that didn’t suit Yin’sa, the serious and sombre traveller. Yvette the tactician had never really cared; if the techniques were effective, then that was all that counted. Even if there was a good chance that she’d originally learned them from a Grimleal cultist, back in that shrouded area of her memory.

The other route, of course, was to attempt to unseat Yves. He was almost as much a stranger to Chromia as she, and while she had no idea whether he matched her for intelligence, Yvette had four years of experience that Yves did not. Assuming that he was in approximately the same position that she had been in, back then. Gods, juggling the possibilities like this was starting to give her a headache. The point was that if Yvette attempted to actively compete for the tactician’s role, then she would probably succeed.

Leaving her responsible for everyone’s lives. Again. Leaving her studying every hour of every day, poring over logistics and strategies and troop arrays. Leaving her trying to do those things whilst keeping one eye on the possibility of leaving them all at any moment.

No. Yvette had filled the tactician’s shoes once already, and she still had a responsibility to her own Shepherds. Chromia’s people deserved someone who would give it their all, not somebody who could well leave the job unfinished. She would offer strategic support and no more, to do otherwise would be to cynically exploit others. Besides, it had only been a day. For all Yvette knew, she would suddenly snap back home again this time tomorrow. Her gut told her that it wasn’t going to happen, but she couldn’t discount the possibility. Last she checked, she wasn’t an expert in hopping through the outrealms.

Best to be prepared for the worst. Which meant that at the end of it all, she was no closer to a definitive conclusion. If Yvette couldn’t demonstrate her value with her skills, maybe she would have to do so with her sincerity. She could surely sway Chromia, if she put her mind to it. Which meant that she had until Ylisstol to think of some good lies.

But when Chromia and Francine returned to camp, a dead bear strung on a pole between them, it grew harder and harder to view this situation objectively. How could she focus on the ends when the means entailed deceiving reflections of her friends?

Gods. She’d spent a day with them and her conviction was already ripping at the seams. She hadn’t a hope of holding onto her secrets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly violent, this one.

That night, stomach filled with roast bear, Yvette lay awake at the campfire. This was it. Soon, she would get some measure of proof about where and _when_ she was. If this place was truly following the same path as Yvette’s world, then tonight was the night when the Risen would first appear. Tonight was the night when Lucina arrived from the future.

There were innumerable ways that things could – no, _should_ be different. Chromia was a woman; the odds of her becoming parent to a child who embarked upon an identical quest to Chrom’s daughter were astronomically low. Yves, unless he had truly replaced Yvette wholesale, should not have been a ‘vessel’ for the Fell Dragon Grima. Therefore no Grimleal plot, therefore no resurrection of Grima, and no need for any time travelling.

If, however, the precise same events unfolded tonight as had happened to Yvette… then the overlap could no longer be denied. Even ignoring the implications about how difficult that would make returning home, the prospect was an unsettling one. She had just finished fighting this very same war. She didn’t know if she had the stomach to do it twice.

But if she just walked away, _knowing_ what was coming, _knowing_ that she might be able to help, then what kind of a person did that make her?

Maybe this was how Lucina had felt.

“You should not be staying up awake. We have a long day tomorrow.”

Yvette lay still, and then grimaced, sitting up. “My apologies, lady Francine. I hope my restlessness did not disturb you.”

Francine shook her head. “I was keeping watch, although soon enough it will be milady’s turn,” the knight’s arms were folded, and after a moment, she turned outward, looking off into the trees. Yvette thought she was finished talking, but then she gave a quiet ‘hm’. “You fought well, today. I may question your choice of armament, but not your courage.”

“I used what was to hand.”

“Save the actual weapon you were carrying.”

Yvette looked sidelong at the knight. “I told your friend already; the blade isn’t mine.”

Francine’s shoulders squared slightly. She remained facing away, ever vigilant. “He is not my friend. At best we are acquainted. And your actions still strike me as foolish. Had we not interceded, you would have been slain, and then you certainly wouldn’t have been able to fulfil your promise.”

She had a point, albeit one expressed in as irritatingly superior fashion as humanly possible. Yvette tried not to let it sting her too much; Frederick had been very guarded at first too, and Francine was just looking out for her charges. Given she had not one but two strangers to keep an eye on, it was little surprise she was taut as a wire.

However, Yvette’s willingness to cut Francine slack only extended so far, and it ran out some way before accepting remarks regarding Say’ri. The wounds of their separation were still fresh; this time yesterday Yvette was on the back of a dragon, striking down an aspect of Grima that mirrored herself. She’d thought then that she was abandoning her love, and now that she knew that she hadn’t, Yvette had to do all in her power to return. Which meant she wasn’t about to take any snide comments.

“It’s a matter of honour, Lady Francine,” she smiled thinly at the other woman’s back. “You’re a knight; I should think that’s an area you’re well educated in.”

Francine stiffened. Ooh. She’d hit the mark. “Perhaps. Forgive me, I had not considered that honour might be a concern of yours.”

 _Ouch_. There were some claws on this one. “It’s fine. You have a lot of duties. I imagine remembering your knightly responsibilities on top of that must be difficult.”

“ _Quite_ ,” Francine replied coldly. “Of course, were I to venture a speculative thought, it would be that if a man were to come into possession of a weapon that did not belong to him, he would perhaps desire to avoid flourishing it,” she still hadn’t turned back around, and Yvette had to bite down the urge to demand that courtesy.

Nonetheless, Yvette sensed cracking ice underfoot, and decided to stamp her mark upon its surface. Being evasive wouldn’t help her cause. “Lady Francine, if you wish to inspect the sword, then you need merely ask. I have nothing to hide; especially not where my betrothed is concerned,” her tone was defiant, daring Francine to take exception.

The knight’s bearing changed by the merest fraction, and finally she turned, sighing softly. “My apologies. I fear my caution has fouled my manners,” she looked off into the treeline for several seconds. “Milady and lord are very trusting. It falls to me to ensure that nothing ill comes of that trust. For what it may be worth, I do not feel you are playing us false, but it is not a possibility I can simply discount.”

Yvette nodded slowly. “Understood, and well appreciated. You’ll have no trouble from me.”

“We shall see.”

That was probably as much as Yvette was going to get from her for now; Francine the Wary indeed.

It was … tough to put this into an appropriate mental space. Francine wasn’t Frederick, objectively they were different people. However, her demeanour and mannerisms were nigh on identical, and the truth of the matter was that Yvette was finding it very difficult to separate them. Frederick was someone she’d come to be friends with, and it _hurt_ to see his counterpart so mistrustful. It was if their friendship had been reset to the very first stage, and Yvette was the only one who remembered.

Which was, of course, because Francine wasn’t Frederick. Logically getting upset over this was just as foolish as expecting a complete stranger to warm up to her immediately. Maybe if she reiterated that enough times in her head, it would begin to sink into her thinking.

Sighing, Yvette lay back down again. She prayed that when she awoke, it would be to find herself home once again.

 

* * *

 

“Yves! Yin’sa! On your feet! We are in danger!”

_Hells._

Yvette had slept fitfully at best, and it was scant seconds before she was roused and alert. If it wasn’t for what Francine’s alarm represented, then she may have even been glad to hear it. Even accompanied as it was by the ground rumbling. What little slumber she’d snatched had been plagued with odd images, shreds and whispers of voices, only half heard. She’d had strange dreams before, dreams which she now knew were a representation of her tether to Grima, but these… these had been something else entirely.

This wasn’t the time.

“Wha…?” mumbled Yves, coat drawn tightly around him like a blanket. “Whassat?”

“Some manner of quake,” explained Francine. “It appears milady and her brother went to investigate.”

Yves grumbled quietly, tugging his hood up over his head and rolling over. “Five more mins-“ an undignified squawk followed as Francine hauled him off the ground by the scruff of the neck. “Ack! I’m up! I’m up!”

“There will be _ample_ time to sleep when the forest isn’t on fire!”

Ah. That would be the orange glow that was emanating up into the sky in the distance. Yvette grimaced, ground the heel of her palm into her forehead. She was feeling so disconnected, as if watching the events from the outside rather than experiencing them. Perhaps because admitting what was happening carried a great many implications, of which Yvette liked approximately none. Ignoring it was out of the question, but maybe she could just… numb herself to it.

…Yeah, she wasn’t really buying that as much of a solution. Self-delusion wasn’t Yvette’s style.

“We should make sure they’re both safe,” she said.

“Agreed.”

“All right, all right, but if I’m cranky, then you know why!”

“I shall bend all of my efforts towards enduring that trial,” Francine responded dryly. “Let us move,” she moved across to her horse, planting a foot in the stirrup and mounting it.

“H-hey!” Yves spluttered. “You can’t expect us to keep up with you on foot!”

“I’ll cover more ground on horseback, and I am trained to fight in the saddle.”

Yves folded his arms, looking rather stern for a man enveloped by his own jacket. “Well sure, ride the horse, but you definitely can’t ride on ahead,” he began ticking off points on his hand. “It’s dark and we’re in a forest, so your horse could trip if you push him too hard. We don’t know what’s out there, you’re not fully armoured, so you’re more vulnerable to ambush than normal, if you get too far ahead of us and then run into trouble it’ll be harder for us to come help…” he stopped and shrugged. “I could keep going but I think you get the point.”

Francine glowered for a moment, and then gave a slow nod. “You make a good case. Very well,” she didn’t dismount, but when she urged her horse forward, she kept the animal to a measured pace.

Yvette fell into step with Yves, who was muffling yawn after jaw-stretching yawn with a sleeve. He’d confirmed her suspicions; even half awake, he was astute enough to come up with a dozen reasons why Francine’s haste was a bad idea. She wasn’t sure who precisely the young tactician equated to, but even if it wasn’t her, they certainly had their aptitudes in common.

“May I borrow your sword again?” she asked him.

He gave her a sleepy smile. “Of course. Don’t set it on fire though,” the weapon was passed over, and Yvette felt a little better. Being able to defend oneself always did wonders for the peace of mind, particularly when Yvette knew precisely what awaited them in the forest.

She would have been happy to have spent the rest of her life never seeing another Risen, and now she was back to her very first experience with them.

The mood amongst the trio was guarded and wary. Francine kept out a hawklike watch from her elevated horseback position, Yvette scanned their surroundings with an even more vigilant eye than normal. Even Yves appeared to shrug off some of his drowsiness as they went along, although he was still wearing his coat more like a cloak. He had his tome tucked tightly underneath his arm, the opposite hand gripping the spine tightly, as if worried it’d slip from his grasp. Given his willingness to supply Yvette with his sword, she had to wonder whether he had a magical preference. If so, then it was opposite to her; Yvette had always relied on her magic as a backup to her blade, and given a choice between the two, would take a stave over a tome. She liked fencing, and supplying healing filled a tactical niche that tomes didn’t.

Francine tugged her horse’s reins, halting them. “Movement,” she announced, hushed. The silver tip of her lance gleamed in the moonlight as she lowered it to point.

The low groaning noise that emerged from the bushes was utterly unmistakable, as were the two glowing red pinpricks that were the creature’s eyes. Shuffling out of the undergrowth came a Risen. Its face was a deathly grey, armour battered and rusted. The blade in its decrepit hand, however, was sharp and deadly. Just as she’d seen a hundred times before.

Francine and Yves on the other hand, had not. The latter just gaped at it. Francine brandished her lance. “Who goes there?” she barked. “Identify yourself!”

A guttural snarl. It lurched into a burst of motion, moving with the speed that had never quite stopped taking Yvette by surprise. Such a dead-looking thing should not be able to _sprint_.

However, she was faster.

Yvette sprang forward and struck with an overhand slash. It didn’t even have time to look at her before exploding into a puff of noxious purple smoke

…Well, she wasn’t fond of this body she’d taken up residence in, but she couldn’t fault its strength. She’d never taken a Risen down with sheer brute force before.

Yves whistled. “Nice! I don’t even know what that was, and you didn’t even break a sweat!”

She shrugged impassively. “It was attacking. That’s good enough for me.”

“Quite so,” said Francine. “But where there was one, there may be others,” she grimaced. “I fear milady and lord may be in danger.”

“CHROMIA!”

The high-pitched shriek pierced the night. Lazarus, it appeared, was just as good at screaming as Lissa.

“Guess we know where they are now- h-hey! Wait up!” Yves, musing to himself, was left in Yvette’s dust, who in turn was left in Francine’s wake as she spurred her horse into a gallop. This time, at least, was understandable.

When Yvette burst through the treeline, it was to see a scene which tore through her like a knife. Chromia stood protectively in front of her brother, defending Lazarus doggedly from the fell creatures that swarmed around them, silhouettes flickering nightmarishly in the firelight. Francine had brought her horse alongside the princess and was laying about herself with her lance, sending Risen flying through the air with considerable force. Wherever they landed, they dissolved into more of that foul-smelling smoke, and Yvette didn’t doubt that if they left bodies, dead Risen would have been piled all around.

What caught her attention most, though, was the person a ways off to the side from the trio. Their clothes were familiar. So was their sword – because it was Falchion, Yvette knew. They wielded the blade as deftly as Yvette ever remembered it being used, cutting through the Risen ranks with ease. A mask concealed their face. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Yvette’s mind that the person was this world’s version of Lucina, Chrom’s future daughter.

She, or perhaps he, also had red hair. Ginger, actually.

For some reason, that was actually more unsettling than all the rest of the differences to Yvette’s home. Maybe not so much the detail itself as what lay beyond that detail. Lucina’s mother was Maribelle, and Maribelle had doted on both the infant and the time-traversing adult. Although Lucina had shared Chrom’s hair colour, Maribelle was blonde, not a redhead. That implied, strongly, that in this world, Lucina (or her equivalent) had different parentage.

Differing genders, Yvette could handle. That was just a binary level swap. She wasn’t happy about not being in her own body, but she could handle that too. When, however, this outrealm began to tinker with things quite so ingrained as relationships, Yvette began to become more than uneasy. Chrom and Maribelle were an adorable couple, complementing one another in ways that Yvette would never have expected at first glance. Actually, she’d been dismayed when she’d first heard of their betrothal, as she wasn’t Maribelle’s biggest fan. Eventually, however, they’d come to a mutual understanding, and having seen the way Chrom smiled at her… well, Yvette couldn’t begrudge her friend that happiness. Her _friends_ that happiness.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to expect that such partnerships would remain the same. Perhaps she was just jumping to too many conclusions. If Chrom could somehow be a woman, then Maribelle could have red hair.

A bolt of lightning grazed Yvette’s shoulder en route to blasting a Risen full in the face, just before it could bite home with its axe. She started, clenching her free fist in consternation. Where was her head? This was a battlefield! She couldn’t let herself get distracted like that!  A quick nod of thanks to Yves, huffing and puffing along behind her, and then she moved into the fray.

Still not completely comfortable with the differing levels of strength and agility she currently possessed, Yvette stuck to the basics. Nothing flashy, none of her usual feints and flourishes. Her fencing had always been as much about misdirection as form. Her flamboyance had driven Frederick up the wall, constantly grumbling about her lack of discipline. He would have been pleased to see the manner in which she fought these Risen. Tight and controlled movements, never leaving herself open or unguarded. An axe was swung at her, and she planted a foot, pivoted, counterstruck. Its owner fell away, but was replaced by another Risen. A parry of the creature’s blade, and then the struggle began afresh.

Wherever possible, Yvette spared one eye for the time traveller. Her _fellow_ time traveller, she supposed. The royal youth fought well, their speed blinding and strength without question. There were a few holes in the technique, here and there, but Chrom had never been much for finesse, and Yvette assumed that gender aside, this Lucina’s mentor was similar. Like father like d… - like teacher like student. Yvette ducked under another slash, lunged, put her sword straight through the Risen’s ribs. Another glance, and ‘Lucina’ was in the process of all-but decapitating another foe. Looked like they had it in hand, which was something at least.

“Yin’sa! You’re too far out! ” Yves’ voice resounded from away off to the side. “Fall back! It’s safer to stick together!”

Yvette bit off a sharp response. She was used to giving the orders, and perhaps overly accustomed to having a finely-tuned platoon at her side. The Shepherds had grown used to Yvette’s tactical methods, tailored their own styles to suit how she commanded them. Just as they’d built up rapport and familiarity with one another, they’d built an affinity for her as their strategist. Here, though, Yvette was just some stranger, and these were not her Shepherds. They weren’t yet, but in time they’d be Yves’. He was already beginning to take control.

Little sense arguing about it. Yves’ suggestion was a tactically sound one, and Yvette retreated, delivering a backhanded swing to a Risen that attempted to block her path. Was it just her, or were there more of the undead creatures now than had been before? Hard to recall that many years and battles ago, but with five in their party – six counting ‘Lucina’ – it seemed that the numbers should have been thinned more than this. Strange, especially as Yvette rejoined the group, putting her back to Francine and taking the opportunity to survey the battlefield again. ‘Lucina’ had left her sight, probably concerned about fighting directly alongside their mother. In their place were yet more Risen, shambling out of the forest from every direction. They hung back for now, as if waiting upon a signal. No doubt they wanted to gather their numbers.

Chromia, obviously winded, shook her head. “Gods! Is… there no… end to them?” she was gulping for air, bleeding from several shallow cuts, and yet still straight backed, eyes alive and fierce.

“Stand fast, milady,” said Francine. “Let them break upon our ranks.”

“We don’t _have_ ranks, Francine!” Lazarus protested shrilly. His face was pale, and he was breathing quickly for reasons entirely unlike his sister’s. There was a slender blade in his hand, but the way it wavered to and fro cast doubts as to his ability to wield it. “There aren’t enough of us!”

Yvette grimaced. The prince’s fear wasn’t unjustified. Forming foursquare was the best that they could do with these numbers, and a wounded Chromia wouldn’t do much to hold up her side of the formation.

Somebody cleared their throat. Yves. “I saw some ruined masonry not too far back. Are there any fortifications we could use nearby?”

Lazarus’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Yeah! There used to be some watchtowers around here!” his face fell. “They probably aren’t in great shape though.”

Yves shrugged. “Even a ruin’s a castle when your back’s to the wall.”

“We have a plan, then,” said Chromia. “Lazzie, do you remember where they are?”

“Sure! …I think so, anyway,” Lazarus laughed nervously. “But hey, ‘Mia, hold up. Let me take care of those injuries,” he sheathed his rapier and brought out his stave, a frown of concentration crossing his face. A moment later, the staff glowed and enveloped Chromia in the light, knitting some of her wounds.

She breathed a sigh. “Thanks, Lazzie. Now let’s move.”

Lazarus, less than confident, headed up the formation. Francine, that ever vigilant sentinel, remained just behind him, coaxing the young man forward each time he cast an anxious glance back. Yvette and Chromia took up positions in the centre, whilst Yves brought up the rear. Doubtless, he wanted to watch their backs with his tome; it was where Yvette would have put him, too.

The Risen reacted slowly to their movement, as indecisive as ever without a hand to direct them. In that regard, their group was fortunate; any kind of organisation would have seen their position overwhelmed quickly. As it was, resistance was sporadic at best, the Risen coming at them in ones and twos and easily dispatched. Chromia looked no worse for wear after being healed up, and handled her flank of the formation with ease. Lazarus, however, clearly lacked confidence with his weapon, and invariably Francine was required to bail him out of trouble. Yvette felt bad for the young man; trying to use the rapier at the same time as a stave was making him fall between two stools, and she knew from experience that those techniques weren’t straightforward ones. Far more dexterity than Lazarus possessed was needed to fight like that, and it was embarrassingly obvious he’d rather be focusing on healing.

Whoever had put the rapier in Lazarus’s hand needed a serious admonishment. Including if it had been Lazarus himself.

“There!” Lazarus called a few minutes into the trip. “You see through the trees?” he pointed, and indeed Yvette saw – decrepit stone walls, but sturdy enough. Just as she’d seen before. Back then, however, they had seen the towers on the way out of the area, a mere curiosity of Ylisse’s geography. Not necessary shelter.

An explosion echoed from behind them. Yvette whipped around to see Yves with an outstretched hand, crackling with electricity. A swathe of grassland had been replaced with a smoking crater. He turned, and Yvette could see sweat on his brow. “Let’s hustle, everyone!” he exhaled heavily. “Phew. Don’t have too many of those in me.”

Yvette was impressed. Wielding a tome wasn’t as simple as just holding a book and saying a few incantations. The amateur mage could rely on the tome’s innate energy, but in the end, the strength of a spell was dictated by the caster’s magical prowess. To do damage like that with a common thunder book required considerable focus and a hefty dose of magical power. Certainly it erased any doubts about Yves’ expertise; Yvette didn’t think even Miriel could do that much with so little.

The group hurried into the watchtower. The building’s roof had long since caved in, and the spiral staircase that had led up to the top of the tower now ascended into nothing and nowhere. Still, it was stone walls and a bottleneck. Better than trying to put their backs to trees.

“The creatures appear to have noticed us,” Francine remarked grimly, dismounting her horse and tethering it inside.

“Then we’ll give them a taste of our steel,” said Chromia.

“Well spoken, milady.”

“Oke doke,” Yves did a three-hundred-and-sixty spin, surveying the entire tower, and then nodded, apparently finding it to his satisfaction. “With this, we can keep Lazarus in the back healing up anyone who needs it and not risk exposing him to the enemy. These monsters don’t look too smart; they keep hurling themselves at us like this and we’ll win.”

Nods all around. Yvette was first back out of the entrance, and a Risen was on her instantly. She dropped a shoulder low, feinting, and the creature took the bait, tracking the movement all the way until the reverse sweep of her blade opened its throat. Smoke belched into her face, and she flinched as it stung her eyes. Gods-damn this body! She was so tall that she was at eye level with the wound!

She also couldn’t see. She stumbled back, trying to keep her sword between herself and any more enemies, rubbing at her streaming eyes with her free arm. Ugh, why did she have to have no sleeves? Screw the mobility, she wanted a damned coat!

“Look out!”

Something rammed into her. Something heavy and armoured and Francine-esque. Yvette, off balance, was handily bowled over. She landed heavily, but with some measure of her vision back – enough to see the knight regain her feet, looking down with concern. A single nod, and then the expression was gone, Francine turning her back and skewering another onrushing Risen with a mighty blow from her lance.

“You alright, Yin’sa?” Chromia appeared from the side and extended a hand. Yvette was hit by a dizzying sense of déjà vu as she accepted the help and was lifted up.

“I’ll manage,” she muttered in reply. This was just all too strange.

Chromia nodded, smiled, and then was forced to leap back to avoid being decapitated by a high-flung axe. Yvette stuck as close to the royal as she dared, assisting Chromia where she could, trying not to let show the ache it caused in her heart. This was just like fighting alongside Chrom – a Chrom with a little less experience, but Chrom nonetheless. She had the same style, the same aggressive stance that stopped just short of being reckless.

Gods. It had barely been an entire day, and she was already homesick beyond compare.

The Risen’s numbers were beginning to thin a little, but Yvette for one was tiring. Taking a quick glance around, she could see that other than Francine, the rest of them weren’t doing especially great either. Lazarus looked practically dead on his feet, and Yves was nursing a nasty gash across the forearm. Yvette was certain now; the Risen were here in greater numbers than in Yvette’s past, and that meant the group was in trouble. Without something to tip the odds-

“COME ON THEN YOU DASTARDS!”

Bellow and warcry in one, the shout heralded the appearance of an armoured figure on horseback, thundering through the Risen’s ranks at full tilt, impaling them left and right with a lance. Bright red hair was illuminated by the flickering firelight, and Yvette immediately thought ‘Sully’… up until she saw the fellow’s massive beard.

For Naga’s sake.

“Cap’n Chromia!” the man roared, bringing his horse up to the tower. Up close, he was absolutely massive, built like a mountain with biceps as big as Yvette’s head. “You ain’t hurt, are ya?”

“We’re fine, Sullivan,” Chromia grinned. “Your timing couldn’t be better!”

“You got it, cap’n,” Sullivan, almost casually, lashed out to the side with his lance, striking a Risen dead in the skull. “Spooky looking dastards, aren’t they?”

Sullivan. Sully. He fit the picture of the Shepherds’ own wrecking ball in all the wrong ways. For a second, Yvette’s hopes had been up. A second later, they’d been dashed all over again. Gods but this was unfair; minus the beard, Sullivan even had Sully’s haircut. Somebody was playing a cruel, cruel joke on Yvette. Maybe she _had_ died with Grima, and this was the purgatory she’d been damned to.

Yvette took her frustrations out on the closest Risen. The hapless undead didn’t even have time to attempt a block.

“The scales are tipping!” cried Yves. “Stay on them!”

“Right!” called Chromia. “Yin’sa! With me!”

Her voice was filled with authority, and even in her dazed, angry state, Yvette was able to follow the tone, move with Chromia. She parried and struck, dodged aside and evaded almost on auto-pilot, her mind spinning around in circles. It only made sense that the other Shepherds would be similarly different to those that she’d already met, but it wasn’t getting any easier. In fact, she just felt more a foreigner each time.

Speaking of foreigners, a distinctive _thrum_ of an arrow leaving bowstring sounded, and a Risen collapsed, a shaft sprouting from its eye.

“Oh, marvellous,” purred an accented voice. Cultured, female. “One could expect nothing less from a master such as me.”

 A woman strode out from behind a tree, a bow in their hand. Her hair was straight and incredibly long, extending to the small of her back. The blueish tint was perfectly familiar, but perhaps even moreso was the supreme confidence of her bearing as she flashed a perfect smile Yvette and Chromia’s way.

“Aha. Could it be that the beguiling grace of Varielle is needed?” she nocked an arrow, fired it off with a flourish. “Fear not! I shall bend my considerable skill to the cause!”

Chromia stared for a second. “Uh… that’s… that’s great.”

Sullivan, mopping up in Chromia’s wake with Francine, made a disgusted noise. “She’s been following me all day, cap’n. Won’t bloody shut up.”

“How could I be silent when confronted with such astounding ruggedness as yours, my dearest Sullivan?”

“Less jawing, more killing!” snapped the big man.

Yvette closed her eyes and tried very, very hard not to scream.


	4. Chapter 4

With the assistance of Sullivan and Varielle, the remaining Risen were swiftly routed. Seven Shepherds were more than a match for the undead creatures, yet to reach their full power. They’d grow stronger in time, Yvette knew, but so too would her comrades. For a first engagement, everyone had done well. Of course they had; their… alternate versions had fended off the Risen too, and they hadn’t had the advantage of an extra fighter who already knew what was coming.

Now, Lazarus sat on a tree stump, hands on his knees. Stray strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail were plastered to his forehead with sweat. Francine roamed nearby, clearing up the debris of the Risen – broken blades and shattered spears. Sullivan was making it a point to ignore Varielle, wrapped up in some kind of story that probably involved extolling each of her own numerous virtues. Yves stood quietly by himself, one hand stroking his jaw, deep in thought.

And Chromia… Chromia was a little ways off from the rest, face-to-mask with the mysterious figure who had fought alongside them.

Even in the context of being in this outrealm, looking upon Chromia and her child was surreal. Everything about the masked youth screamed ‘Lucina’, from the way that they were standing to the sombre expression on what part of their face was visible. Everything that was, apart from their hair. Bright, vibrant red; nothing at all like Chromia’s tone, although similarly straight. Who else could it be, though? Yvette had seen the youth wielding Falchion with her own eyes, and that narrowed the possibilities for their identity considerably. It wasn’t as if just anybody could pick up and use that weapon.

Yvette carefully masked a frown and approached the pair. There was a momentary guilty pang at interrupting this first meeting, but she firmly pushed it away. She needed to figure out exactly what was going on here, and if that meant discarding a little bit of sentiment, then so be it. Chromia glanced up once Yvette got within a few steps, gave her a nod and a reassuring smile. Yvette swallowed the lump in her throat and responded with a courteous nod of her own. She’d said her goodbyes and apologies in her heart before the final battle with Grima. She’d _known_ that Chrom didn’t want her to sacrifice herself to slay the Fell Dragon, and she’d done it anyway. Every time she saw Chromia, it was like she was confronting that decision all over again. In some ways, it was even worse that Chromia didn’t know who she was.

_If your bonds are strong enough, there is a chance you will survive._

And here was a Chrom with whom she had no bonds at all.

“Forgive me if I am interrupting,” Yvette said to the pair.

“It’s no trouble,” replied Chromia. “I was just thanking our friend here for their assistance,” she grinned crookedly. “Of course, that would be an easier matter if I knew their name.”

The young… person stood there in silence for a few seconds. Though their eyes were concealed, Yvette could tell that they were lingering on her the entire time. “…You may call me Marie,” their voice was soft, and Yvette thought she could detect a faint note of uncertainty.

Chromia tilted her head to the side. “After the hero queen? Well, considering how you saved my brother back there, I’d say you’re living up to your namesake!”

Marie hesitated, and… her mouth twitched into a smile for just an instant. Just as quickly, it was gone. “I am sorry, but I must take my leave. What you saw tonight was just a prelude of what is to come,” she shook her head. “Consider this a warning.”

“Hold a moment,” said Yvette. Marie, already turning to walk away, paused. “From whence did these creatures come? Anything you know would doubtless be useful.”

Another long hesitation. Once more, Marie seemed to stare straight at her. “I can only tell you that they are formed of a dark magic.”

Just as evasive as Yvette had expected. “And the magician?”

“…I am sorry, but I cannot say,” Marie’s voice went flat, emotionless. Yvette knew that this was as much as she was going to get, and nodded. Marie turned away once more. “Farewell to you all.”

“Until next time!” called Chromia to Marie’s retreating back. The time traveller faltered, and then continued on. Chromia turned back to Yvette, smiling. “Quite the mystery, eh Yin’sa?”

“Indeed,” she put a hand on the hilt of Say’ri’s sword, squeezing it for reassurance. “I confess, I hadn’t expected Ylisse to be quite so eventful.”

Chromia laughed. “Ha! Excitement tends to find us Shepherds if we don’t find it first,” her smile widened. “Admittedly, monsters, amnesiac tacticians and mysterious masked women are pretty special even by our standards.”

“I feel positively normal by comparison,” Yvette remarked dryly. Though, privately, she figured that she was quite possibly the strangest of all. Time _and_ realm travelling pretty much had the rest beaten.

“Even so, we were lucky to have you,” Chromia fell silent and frowned, a thoughtful expression coming onto her face. “I don’t mean to intrude, but may I ask what your plans are in the halidom?”

“I intend to continue searching for my betrothed,” Yvette said, trying to keep any waver from her voice. “However long it takes.”

“I see. Do you have any idea where she may be?”

In another time. In another dimension. Yvette shook her head. “I have little to go on. I lost her trail when she crossed the ocean from Valm.”

“That’s quite the journey…” Chromia mused. “I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you.”

“Aye, I miss her,” Yvette rubbed the sword hilt again. “But I carry her with me, at least. Her blade brings me hope,” that, at least, wasn’t a lie, even if carrying that hope was painful.

Chromia nodded. “Well, you’re a fine fighter, Yin’sa. I understand if you’d prefer to remain alone, but perhaps you could consider joining the Shepherds? We travel all across the halidom.”

Yvette did her utmost to look thoughtful. Forget trying to scheme her way into the Shepherds, she had an invitation! This was perfect; she only need ensure that she not come across as too eager to accept. “Aye? I suppose the more pairs of eyes the better, but I cannot guarantee I’d be staying long. I imagine my agenda would be rather different from your own.”

Chromia shrugged. “You’d not be under any obligation to stay. So long as you’re willing to follow orders and give us notice if you’re planning to travel alone, then you’re more than welcome to join us. We’d be glad to have a swordsman of your calibre.”

Yvette rubbed her chin and then nodded. “Fie, it’s certainly tempting. My resources have been stretched thin of late, and it’s been too long since I’ve had company on the road. May I have some time to consider?” steady, steady. She had to remind herself who she was purporting to be and the priorities she was claiming to have. Winning Chromia’s trust was an important step, but she wasn’t the only person that would require convincing.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the fact that she was actively abusing that trust by lying about who she was.

“Sure. After the help you’ve given us, the offer stands open for as long as you’re in the halidom.”

Yvette dipped her head. “My thanks. I’ll try to have an answer for you by the time we reach Ylisstol.”

“Excellent,” Chromia clapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to the others. It’s been quite the night, and we need to bring this news back to the capital.”

“Aye. If these creatures appear elsewhere, then lives will be in danger.”

Chromia sighed as the two of them set off. “Not even just those monsters. You remember the bandits back in the town? There’s a good chance they were Plegian brigands sent across the border. Our neighbours have been doing everything in their power to provoke us of late, and it’s a brave band of thieves that raid a town so brazenly,” her face darkened. “Chances are that the Plegian queen has been stirring her people up against us again. Most of them are all too eager to carry a grudge against Ylisse.

Yvette narrowly restrained herself from making a snide remark. There was no reason for someone from Chon’sin to be offended on Plegia’s behalf, but such sentiments had always rankled with her. Her recollection of her homeland was hazy at best, but she had few enough memories as it was without what little she _did_ remember being dragged through the mud. Not every Plegian was a bloodthirsty fanatic, and it was hardly surprising that the populace would resent Ylisse when a vicious war was still within living memory.  

“Is Yves not Plegian?” was what she settled on saying, much more mildly than she actually felt.

Chromia started. “I… yes, I suppose he is,” she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. “Forgive me. My quarrel is with the Plegian leadership, not the entire country. Ylisse has had its share of poor rulers too.”

Yvette nodded and said nothing more. It was heartening to know that whatever realm Chrom was from, he still wasn’t a bigot. She’d made more than a few sharp comments to her own Chrom in the past. It was much easier to think of the enemy as a faceless mass rather than people in their own right, and she certainly wouldn’t have followed the man as far as she had if he’d condemned all Plegians as monsters. Still, if he’d held that view, he wouldn’t have trusted her as tactician in the first place, so it was probably a moot point.

Francine noticed their arrival first and stood to attention. “Milady. Did you discover anything about the young man?”

“Woman, actually, and little enough. Her name is Marie and she offered a warning.”

“Indeed?” Francine raised an eyebrow. “What manner of warning?”

“Just that this is only the beginning.”

“Hrm. How wonderfully vague. Convenient that she left without explaining further,” Francine shook her head, frowning. “I mislike this, milady.”

“Oh quit being so paranoid, Francine!” Lazarus piped up. “She saved my life! I’m sure she has to have her reasons for the secrecy.”

“Perhaps,” Francine turned back to Chromia. “Shall we be on our way, milady?”

“W-what?” spluttered Lazarus. “We just fought a battle, Francine! It’s still dark!”

“Dawn isn’t far off. An early start will do us all good.”

“’Miaaaaaa,” Lazarus whined. “Francine’s being mean again.”

Chromia laughed. “Chin up, Lazzie. There’s plenty of bear left over for breakfast.”

“Ughhhhh!”

 

* * *

 

In the end they wound up taking a break, getting a few more hours of sleep. Even Francine could see that fatigued and injured as they all were, trying to press on was an invitation to disaster. Yves had the same knack for persuading the wary one as Yvette – albeit much more diplomatically than she. Yvette and Frederick had clashed a lot in the early days, especially right after Chrom had named her as tactician. He hadn’t fully trusted her yet, and had second guessed her every move, reviewing and re-reviewing every battle array that she drew up. As someone who didn’t do well with people looking over her shoulder, that had grated on Yvette immensely. She expected to be allowed to get on with the role she’d been given, not have to justify herself to a person who quite frankly wasn’t qualified to criticise.

That friction, however, had passed with time. Frederick had learned to trust her strategies, and Yvette had learned to respect Frederick’s prowess and commitment to his duty. She wasn’t sure he’d stopped at least partially suspecting her of being a spy until the Shepherds actually fought on Plegian soil. She could understand his position, even if she hadn’t liked it, and that dislike was what kept her making barbed comments at his expense.

Yves, by contrast, just seemed to be able to diffuse Francine with little more than an easy nature and a relaxed smile. Yvette could tell that Francine was still trying to decide what to make of Yves, but none of their disagreements were turning into actual arguments. It was actually rather annoying. Frederick had never given _her_ the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe Francine was just more willing to trust in the good intentions of others than her counterpart. She seemed content enough to refrain from interrogating Yvette, and Yvette was just as much an unknown factor as the tactician.

As they marched, Yvette took up a position to the rear of the group. She had a lot to process, and she thought best without distractions. Battlefield strategy was the one exception, where the chaos of an engagement actually sharpened her focus, improved her decision making. However, what she needed to sort through was no skirmish. Specifically, it was this ‘Marie’.

From what Chromia had said, Marie was likely to be this world’s Marth, the legendary hero. Whilst the use of that alias more or less confirmed that ‘Marie’ was the outrealm’s equivalent of Lucina, the sticking point was, once again, gender. For Lucina, it had made sense to disguise herself as a man, keep her identity as far removed from her past self as possible. To disguise oneself as a woman was much more difficult, and much more likely to arouse suspicion if failed, which left Yvette torn between two possibilities. One was that ‘Marie’ actually _was_ a woman, turning all of what she’d experienced so far on its head. The other was that the youth was following the same logic as Lucina, and was Chromia’s son, the royal prince. For now it was difficult to do anything but speculate.

And there was the frustration. Yvette could speculate and speculate again but she had no concrete _facts_. It was as if she had all the pieces of a huge jigsaw puzzle, but could find neither edges nor any that actually fitted together. Somewhere within that mess was a real picture of the situation, and right now, all she had was random snippets and fragments. If only she’d spent more time studying outrealm theory, or found out more from Lucina about her journey from the future. There was an answer to all of this, some proper explanation out there, if only she could _find_ it.

Sadly, however, whilst Yvette had found the intricacies of Lucina’s travels very interesting indeed, she’d rarely had opportunity to ask the younger woman about them.  They hadn’t often spoken together outside of war councils and planning sessions, and even on those rare occasions, Lucina had made it very clear that she didn’t like Yvette one bit. The root of the animosity was hard to place, but Yvette was astute enough to read hostility, and Lucina had hardly been subtle about snubbing her. Not ideal, although Yvette didn’t really need Lucina to like her so long as she followed orders on the battlefield, and the youth had always been dutiful in that regard. Given the luxury of time, Yvette may have tried to dig into the problem further, but given her role, she’d been rather too busy to devote much energy to investigating why one person disliked her.

No sense regretting that choice now. Doing so hadn’t made sense at the time, and it was a decision that Yvette stuck by now, no matter how infuriating her lack of knowledge was.

Unfortunately, it appeared that her only recourse was to be patient. If events in this world continued in step with those in her own, then Yvette would eventually get answers. That, however, was only a slender comfort. Their next meeting with Marie was a few weeks off, and it would be at least three months until Lucina’s counterpart actually stuck around long enough to hold a conversation. Even then, there was no guarantee Marie would know anything more about jumping between worlds, putting any potential solution even further away. Yet with so few resources and no informed allies, Yvette didn’t really have much of a choice. What else was she to do? Trying to explain to Chromia would see the precious goodwill she’d earned thrown away, and if she lost the Shepherds, then Yvette hadn’t a prayer of getting home.

Nothing was saying she couldn’t be proactive whilst waiting, but Yvette’s hopes for assembling this blasted puzzle were slender ones. She would just have to deal with her circumstances as best she could, and try not to go mad with anxiety in the meantime. Easier said than done when every second thought was what had happened in the aftermath of that final battle. Had it even finished? Perhaps the blow she’d struck Grima had caused some kind of backlash, sent her to this world whilst the Fell Dragon remained in the other. Perhaps the sensations she’d felt in the wake of that attack weren’t Grima dying, but something else entirely. It was impossible to say, and she hated that. Yvette had prepared herself for death, steeled herself, knowing what was needed for victory against the dragon. What she _hadn’t_ been prepared for was this… limbo.

She wished, selfishly, that Say’ri was here too. Even if her lover probably wouldn’t have had any more idea about how to get home than Yvette, her presence would have been an enormous comfort. Whenever Say’ri was at her back, she’d felt able to take on the entire world.

“Yin’saaaa?”

Yvette glanced up. Lazarus had slowed down his pace to match hers, and was giving her an expectant look.

“Aye?”

“You looked like you were a thousand miles away,” he gave her a gentle smile. “Everything all right?”

Yvette raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t been letting her emotions show on her face, had she? “Aye, I’m fine. A few matters weigh on me, that is all,” she dipped her head in a nod. “But thank you for asking.”

Lazarus tilted his head to the side. “My older brother always says people are ‘in their thoughts’ when they look like you just did. Wanna talk about it?” his cheeks flushed slightly. “I mean, um, I’m not trying to intrude! Just sometimes I know it helps to get things off your chest.”

She hesitated. Keeping things to herself was probably the smart move; Lazarus wouldn’t press her for answers, and the fewer lies that she told, the easier it would be to keep them all straight. On the other hand, if she didn’t open up at least a little, the other Shepherds would have no reason to trust her. She needed to think in the longer term; she could be stuck here for a while, and becoming a pariah wouldn’t help her cause in the slightest. Befriending Chromia was a good start, and there would certainly be no harm in getting Lazarus onside too.

Attempting to ignore how dispassionate and _cynical_ those thoughts were, Yvette nodded again in what she hoped was reassuring fashion. “Perhaps. I was thinking of Say’ri.”

“Say’ri?” Lazarus perked up. “Is that…?”

“My betrothed, aye.”

“She has a pretty name.”

Yvette smiled in spite of herself. “And she is a beautiful woman.”

“You must miss her a lot, huh?”

“…Aye,” she did. It was a force of effort to prevent Say’ri from completely dominating her thoughts.

Lazarus puffed out his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m prying, aren’t I?”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Yvette shrugged. “I’ve given you plenty of reason to be curious.”

“Well… I guess so. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

Lazarus’s expression was as earnest as it got. Yvette’s heart clenched. There was everything of Lissa in the young man, from how he looked at her from the ever so slight curl at the tips of his hair.

She turned her head aside. “If you like, I can tell you how we met.”

And she did. Not all the details; some omissions, and some tweaks, here and there, but as honestly as she could manage without blowing her cover.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t love at first sight. Their first meeting had been upon a battlefield, and not just any battlefield; the bloody beachhead that they’d clawed inch by inch from the hands of the Valmese army.

In fact, the Shepherds hadn’t even known that Say’ri would be there. The objective was to seize the port and establish a foothold upon Valmese soil, not rescue the person who turned out to be the very heart of the resistance movement. Later, it turned out that the encounter wasn’t quite as chance as it first appeared, but at the time… well, actually, Say’ri’s presence had been a frustrating added dimension to Yvette’s plan. The strategy-as-written was working out, up until she’d been forced to accommodate coming to someone’s aid.

The plan had opened with a lightning fast strike across the treacherous sands of the beach leading up to the port. Trying to assault the harbour itself would have been too risky; too easy for the enemy to dig in on the docks and funnel them all into a bottleneck. As it was, the Valmese hadn’t expected them to make their attack from the bay, and the Ylissean forces had quickly overwhelmed the small number of soldiers stationed there. From that point, Yvette had ordered a rapid advance, enticing the Valmese with the sight of a seemingly exposed flank.

Just as she’d predicted, the Valmese commander took the bait hook line and sinker and had his men charge them. When your cavalry was your strongest asset, an opportunity like that was an irresistible one.

And under normal circumstances, it would have been a good call, too. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be facing off against an opponent who had spent every waking moment for the past month studying up on your army’s tactics and favoured troop types. Though at the same time, any strategist worth their salt would – _should_ realise that it was downright foolish to use the same plans and formations each and every battle.

The Valmese side apparently hadn’t got the memo. Rather than carving into the soft underbelly of the Ylisseans’ flank, they’d slammed dead into the toughest and hardiest units that the Shepherds had. The toughest, hardiest units _specifically_ outfitted to fight cavalry. The enemy frontline hadn’t stood a chance, breaking themselves apart on the Shepherds’ ranks. They’d attempted to pull back, of course, but that wasn’t how a cavalry charge worked; mounted troops were all about momentum, and the second they began to get bogged down, they were robbed of a huge proportion of their power.  As intended, the Valmese lines were sucked into a disorganised mire.

Which was the entrance cue for a rather different form of cavalry.

Ylisse’s flying forces struck from ambush, catching the Valmese in a picture-perfect pincer attack. Up until that point, Yvette had intentionally kept Ylisse’s aerial strength hidden from Valm, avoiding the use of any of their fliers in the previous battles. The impact of surprise more than outweighed the previous loss of tactical flexibility. Cordelia’s red hair fluttered in the wind as she led the assault personally, dealing a devastating blow to the enemy and decisively routing their vanguard.

It was when Cordelia steered her Pegasus to land alongside Yvette that the plan changed.

“Yvette,” she’d said, standing at crisp attention. “Something odd is going on in the town. The Valmese are pursuing a woman.”

“Oh?” Yvette had tilted her head to one side. “Their law enforcement?”

Cordelia had shaken her head. “No. They’re diverting a large number of soldiers to apprehend her. I wasn’t close enough to see any further details.”

At that point, the gears in Yvette’s head had begun to turn. While it was possible that the individual being hunted was just a common criminal, to expend military resources on a cutpurse in the middle of a battle was beyond foolish. Following one of her own strategic doctrines; _never_ assuming one’s opponent was less intelligent than oneself, only a few possibilities remained. All of them boiled down to the woman being a high-value target for the Valmese army. That had been of immediate interest. From the intelligence gathered by Virion and Ylissean spies (the existence of which Yvette may have neglected to inform Chrom), those likely to be incarcerated by the Valmese regime were those resisting against Emperor Walhart. All of which meant that there was a good chance that the woman was of considerable value to the resistance, a considerable asset against Walhart, or both.

“Noted. Thanks, Cordelia.”

Cordelia had given her a solemn and deferential nod and then returned to her mount. It was rare for the pegasus knight to be anything less than one hundred percent serious.

Yvette had been left momentarily to her own thoughts. The original plan was a slow phalanx push, knights and the like backed up by mages, neutralising the enemy cavalry and covering for the armoured units’ vulnerabilities with magic. In principle that had remained sound, in practice, that strategy would take too long to secure the area. By the time their forces pushed on and secured the port, a lone fugitive would have long since been run down. Allowing that to happen would be negligent at best; Ylisse needed every asset it could find in this war. Even if Yvette had turned out to be wrong, the evidence was such that it wasn’t a chance she could afford to take.

“Hold on, Cordelia.”

The pegasus knight had turned, raising an eyebrow. “Ma’am?”

“Change of plan. The fliers aren’t to cycle back into reserve just yet.”

If Cordelia had a problem with that, she’d kept it from her face. She was good at concealing her feelings from the surface. For instance, Yvette was well aware that the pegasus rider had spent the entirety of their first campaign suspicious of her, concerned about having a Plegian tactician so close to the Ylissean prince. She’d never said as much until after Gangrel’s defeat, when she’d come and apologised to Yvette for her suspicions. Yvette had feigned ignorance of the mistrust, but taken the regret at face value. Cordelia wasn't a deceitful person, and it was big of her to say sorry for a suspicion she'd never acted upon.

“What are your orders, Yvette?”

“We’re going to make a rescue, Cordelia. Can you bring Lissa to me? I’m going to ride with her.”

Cordelia had frowned. “Forgive me, Yvette, but Lissa is the least experienced knight we have. Is it wise to-“

Yvette had snuffed out her own irritation and responded with logic. “That’s why I’m sharing the saddle. Lissa hasn’t doubled up as often as the rest of you, so she needs someone she’s comfortable with.”

“Would it not be-“

“Cordelia,” Yvette’s tone had sharpened. “You’re all going to be riding double. If Lissa is to improve, she requires battlefield experience. And she’ll be best able to get it accompanied by the person who she first learned to share the saddle with,” she’d given Cordelia a cold look. “Have I made myself clear?”

“I…” Cordelia dipped her head. “Yes, ma’am. I apologise.”

Soon enough, Lissa had hurried up to her. She was jittery, but smiling. Although she’d fought in several battles on pegasus back before that day, it was Lissa’s first time participating in a full aerial formation.

“Vetti!” Lissa threw up something that might have been a salute. “We’re going out again?”

Yvette had long since given up trying to get Lissa to stop calling her that, despite loathing the nickname. She liked the girl- the woman well enough to be able to overlook the irritation. “That we are, Lissa. I’m riding with you.”

Lissa’s face had fallen. “With… Vetti, I’ve never-“

“Which is why it’s important you do it,” she’d leaned in close and used another of her favoured sayings. “If not now, then when?”

Lissa had swallowed, and then nodded. “You’re right. I’ll do my best!”

A smile, and then she’d clapped Lissa on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Swiftly, they had reorganised their ranks. While the phalanx would continue as planned, the fliers would make their way across town and come to the rescue. They would also be ferrying over a number of other units in order to continue the fight on the ground. Pegasi – and wyverns for that matter, had unparalleled mobility, but they were vulnerable in a melee. Send them in unsupported and they would be in trouble.

So, support she would provide.

Chrom had approached as she settled into the saddle behind Lissa, resting her hands gently on the smaller woman’s hips. Lissa had been clenching the reins tightly, but then let out a long breath, smiling back at Yvette.

“Yvette.”

“Hey, Chrom. Sorry to change the plan on you.”

Chrom had nodded. “It’s all right. I trust your judgement. Our lines are holding strong.”

“Good. If anything changes, it’s in Virion and Maribelle’s hands.”

Another nod. “As normal,” he’d looked past her. “Be careful, Lissa.”

“I’ll be fine, big brother. Especially with Yvette here!”

Yvette had shared a long and significant look with Chrom. Without a single word passing between them, they’d shared an understanding. She would look after Lissa for him. It was a promise. She’d raised a hand to the rest of the group.

“Fliers! Move out!”

And then they had taken to the air in an flurry of beating wings and animal whinnying. Cherche’s wyvern had given an almighty ear-piercing screech.

Even burdened by riding double, the flying forces of the Shepherds had made easy time across the Valmese port. In just a couple of minutes, they had traversed a considerable distance, and it wasn’t long before Yvette caught sight of the woman Cordelia had told her about. Her garb was intriguing, very different from anything Yvette had seen in Ylisse or Ferox. Her hair was dark brown, partially contained by a headband, and she had a sheath buckled either side of her waist. Both sheaths, Yvette realised after a moment, were completely empty.

And the Valmese were in hot pursuit of her, both mounted troops and others on foot, pressing her hard. For all that she darted between market stalls and disappeared momentarily into various alleys, it had clearly been only a matter of time before she was caught. Indeed, before their very eyes, two Valmese knights trapped the woman into a corner, pinning her with her back against the wall, unarmed and helpless-

Which was when the Yvette had punched a fist downward, directing her troops into the attack.

The Valmese hadn’t had a prayer of seeing them coming.

In an assault which was one part cavalry charge and one part divebomb, the Shepherds had descended from the skies at high velocity, crashing into the Valmese soldiers like thunderbolts. The pursuers, who had barely been organised into lines, let alone a coherent battle array, had scattered before them, driven from the field in a matter of moments. Yvette had spared a moment to consider the irony of the world’s finest cavalry being utterly unprepared for a mounted attack.

Of course, they hadn’t been prepared for an attack full stop, but that was their own folly, or at the least, that of their commander. This was a battle; if one was going to split priorities in the midst of a fight, then they had best be ready to devote attention to both endeavours.

Yvette had swung from the saddle, dropping to the ground with the grace of a cat. Nearby, Henry and Lon’qu had dismounted too, the latter sharing her light step, the former thumping down rather more heavily.

“Ooh… that’s gonna bruise,” Henry had mumbled, rubbing his knee, and then grinning widely. “Awesome!”

What little resistance remained had crumbled in the face of Lon’qu and Yvette’s blades, backed by Henry’s sorcery. Yvette had a soft spot for the dark mage, as weird and creepy as he could be. He was another Plegian face amongst her allies, and one who didn’t have a fixation on stalking her, to boot.

“Wowee!” the dark mage had crowed as the Valmese fell back. “Look at all the blood!”

Left in their wake was the person they’d been pursuing, the person Yvette had spotted from pegasus back. She’d been bleeding from multiple wounds, but she’d stood straight backed and proud, a relieved smile on her face as she let out a huge sigh.

“Fie… I’d thought myself dead for sure. Your arrival couldn’t have been more timely.”

“We aren’t out of the woods yet,” Yvette had told her, directing the others to make sure the injured were all right. “But you’re welcome.”

“Aye, true enough. I am in your debt regardless, Shepherds.”

Yvette had arched an eyebrow. “You know of us?” she’d produced her stave, concentrating hard to channel a healing spell, take the edge off of the woman’s injuries.

A nod, and though she was less hurt, her smile became no less tired. “Aye. We heard of your victory over the Valmese fleet. The Ylissean league counts some fearsome warriors amongst its number!” she’d bowed deeply. “My name is Say’ri.”

“Yvette,” a long and appraising look had passed between the two of them, and then Yvette had nodded, satisfied. For all that Say’ri had been on the run, she was clearly a capable warrior, from her bearing, from her physique. “Come then, the battle isn’t over. Stay close to me.”

“As you say.”

Yvette had handed her blade across to Say’ri and then drawn her Levin sword. The other woman’s grip was strong.

She’d hidden a sudden smile in her sleeve as she turned away. Where had the emotion come from? This wasn’t the time to be grinning like a child.

No, it wasn’t love at first sight, but it was something a little more than the simple courtesy of meeting a new person.


End file.
